Seven Years to Sin Page 4

  It quickly became clear that Alistair Caulfield was enjoying laudable financial success. He didn’t comment on it personally, but he participated in the discussion about the trade, making it clear he was very involved in the minutiae of his business endeavors. He was also expertly dressed. His coat was made with a gray-green velvet she thought quite lovely, and the stylishly short cut of the shoulders emphasized how fit he was.

  “Do you make the trip to Jamaica often, Captain?” Jess asked.

  “Not as often as some of Mr. Caulfield’s other ships do.” He set his elbows on the table and toyed with his beard. “London is where we berth most often. The others dock in Liverpool or Bristol.”

  “How many ships are there?”

  The captain looked at Caulfield. “ ’Ow many are there now? Five?”

  “Six,” Caulfield said, looking directly at Jess.

  She met his gaze with difficulty. She couldn’t explain why she felt as she did, but it was almost as if the intimacies she had witnessed that night in the woods had been between Caulfield and herself, not another woman. Something profound had transpired in the moment they’d first become aware of each other in the darkness. A connecting thread had been sewn between them, and she had no notion how to sever it. She knew things about the man she should not know, and there was no way for her to return to blissful ignorance.

  “Congratulations on your success,” she murmured.

  “I can say the same to you.” He set one forearm on the table. The cuff of his coat was of fashionable length, covering his hand near to the knuckle. Still, the sight of his fingers reminded her of another time … a night when those hands had clung to a gazebo post to leverage the thrust of his hips.

  He drummed his fingertips onto the tablecloth-covered wood, breaking her reverie. “Oh?” she managed, after a fortifying swallow of wine.

  “My ships also provide transport for Calypso goods.”

  Jess was not surprised to learn that. “I should like to discuss that arrangement with you further, Mr. Caulfield.”

  His brows arched, and the other men grew quiet.

  “When you have time,” she qualified. “There is no urgency.”

  “I have time now.”

  She recognized the hawklike precision of his gaze and understood she’d engaged his mind for business. A moment of disquiet affected her, but she prayed she hid it. By necessity, she’d come to recognize the type of men it was best not to cross, and Alistair Caulfield was certainly one of them. He flashed a bright, charming smile with ease, but it did not reach his eyes.

  “I appreciate your willingness to accommodate me,” she answered.

  Jess watched as he stood. Rounding the table quickly but without haste, he assisted her with extracting herself from the bench.

  She looked at the head of the table. “Thank you very much for a charming evening, Captain.”

  “I ’ope you’ll join us every night.”

  Although she deported herself without noticeable fault, she was achingly aware of Caulfield standing very close beside her. When they left the great cabin together, that awareness increased tenfold. The door shut behind them, and she felt the click of the brass latch vibrate across overly taut nerves. Tarley had gone to great lengths to make her feel secure and without stress, while Caulfield so easily skewed her prized equanimity. He had an indefinable quality that heightened her cognizance of everything that made her feminine and, therefore, vulnerable.

  “Shall we take a stroll on the deck?” he asked in a subdued tone that swirled in the enclosed space around her. He stood almost too near, his head bent to accommodate the moderate height of the deckhead.

  The scent clinging to him was delicious, filling her nostrils with sandalwood, musk, and the barest hint of verbena.

  “I will need to fetch a shawl.” Her voice was huskier than she would have liked.

  “Of course.”

  He escorted her to her cabin in silence, which allowed other sounds to dominate—the surefooted confidence of his steps, the accelerated rate of her breathing, the steady whoosh of the water against the hull.

  She entered her room in a breathless rush and shut the door with indecorous haste. Sucking in a gasping breath, she drew Beth’s widened eyes to her. The abigail dropped her darning on the table and stood.

  “Lord, but yer flushed,” Beth said in the calm, authoritative voice that made everything—including a journey to Jamaica—seem both possible and well in hand. She moved to the pitcher and basin by the bed to fetch a damp cloth. “Yer not falling ill, are you?”

  “No.” Jess accepted the compress and held it to her cheeks. “Perhaps I had more wine than I should have with supper. Can you fetch me a shawl?”

  Beth dug into the trunk at the foot of the bed and withdrew a black silk shawl. Jess traded the cloth for the garment with a grateful smile.

  But Beth’s frown did not diminish. “Maybe you should rest, milady.”

  “Yes,” Jess agreed, damning herself for opening a discussion with Caulfield. She could have waited until daylight, at least. Or better yet, she should have left the questions to her steward, who could have subsequently provided her the answers with no discomfort necessary. “I shan’t be long, then you can retire to your quarters.”

  “Don’t hurry yerself on my account. I’m too excited to sleep.”

  Jess draped the shawl over her shoulders and exited back to the passageway.

  Caulfield had been leaning casually against the far bulkhead, but he straightened when Jess stepped out. Cast in the brighter light spilling out of her cabin, his face revealed a stark appreciation of her appearance that caused her to flush all over again. The smoldering in his gaze was quickly masked and replaced with an easy smile, but she remembered the feel of that stare from long ago. It had a similarly paralyzing effect on her now.

  He gestured toward the stairs, and the gentle prod gave her the impetus to move. She preceded him up to the deck, grateful for the cool ocean breeze and low-hanging, yellow moon that stripped the world of color. Everything was rendered in black and shades of gray, which helped to mitigate the overwhelming vibrancy that had always distinguished Alistair Caulfield.

  “What are the chances,” she began, just to break the weighty silence, “that you and I would find ourselves traveling on the same ship at the same time?”

  “Excellent, considering I arranged it,” he said smoothly. “I hope you’ve been comfortable so far.”

  “How could anyone be uncomfortable? This is a magnificent ship.”

  His mouth curved, and a flutter tickled her stomach. “It pleases me to hear you say so. Should you require anything, I’m at your service. Once we’ve reached our destination, I have assured Michael that I’ll make the necessary introductions and provide what information I can to assist you with the sale of Calypso.”

  “Michael,” she breathed, startled to realize she had been entrusted to the care of Alistair Caulfield—a man who had always made her feel far from safe—by her very own overprotective brother-in-law. “I was unaware.”

  “Forgive him. I told him I would discuss the matter with you. He’s overwhelmed at the moment, and I wanted to alleviate some of his burden.”

  “Yes, of course. That was very considerate.” She started walking toward the forecastle to ease the tension gripping her. She didn’t know Caulfield well enough to say he’d changed, yet the man she spoke to did not fit the image of reckless, untamed youth she had carried in her mind all these years.

  “My motivation is not entirely altruistic,” he qualified, falling into step beside her. His hands were clasped at the small of his back, emphasizing the strength of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest. He had always been more muscular than the Sinclairs. More so than even his own brothers.

  She admired his build in ways she shouldn’t. “Oh?”

  He glanced aside at her. “I’ve been out of the country for many years, with only brief visits as necessary to prevent my mother from sending a search party a
fter me. It’s my hope that you will assist my acclimation to English society when I return, as I’ll do for you in Jamaica.”

  “You’re returning to England for a longer stay?”

  “Yes.” He looked forward again.

  “I see.” Dear God, she sounded breathless once more. “Your family and friends will be delighted, I’m certain.”

  Caulfield’s chest expanded on a deep breath.

  Recalling that the family he’d left behind was halved now, she said hastily, “Your brothers …”

  Jess’s head lowered. She regretted making him feel ill at ease, because she knew precisely how it felt to be continually reminded of what was forever lost to her.

  He stopped beside the main mast. With a soft hand at her elbow, he urged her to halt as well.

  She faced him. He took an unnecessary step closer. Near enough to dance. “I’m returning to England because the reason I stayed away no longer exists, and a reason to return has unexpectedly presented itself.”

  Caulfield’s tone was intimate. Jess couldn’t help wondering if a woman was luring him back.

  She nodded. “I will endeavor to be as useful to you as you’ll certainly be to me.”

  “Thank you.” He hesitated, as if he considered saying something more. In the end, he held his tongue and gestured for her to continue walking. “You wished to discuss the transport of product from Calypso?”

  “Whatever obligations Calypso has are now my obligations, and I should be aware of them. That was all I wished to say. I can bring up the matter with my steward. Please, pay me no mind.”

  “I have the answers you seek. I want to be the one who provides them to you. Come to me with whatever you need.”

  Glancing at him, she found him intently focused on her. “You must be a very busy man. I don’t wish to impose on your time unnecessarily.”

  “You could never be an imposition. I would take great pleasure in seeing to whatever you may desire.”

  “Very well,” she said quietly.

  The warmth of Caulfield’s voice changed, taking on a slight edge. “Your tone suggests displeasure.”

  As he’d done so long ago, he somehow managed to encourage Jess to speak more bluntly than she would have thought possible. “Though I’m grateful for your attentiveness, Mr. Caulfield, I am also weary of such consideration. I’m not a woman made of glass who is prone to shattering without care. I arranged this trip, in part, to distance myself from those who insist on treating me as if I am fragile.”

  “I have no idea how to coddle a woman,” he said wryly. “If that was my aim, I would certainly fail miserably. In truth, having met your steward on several occasions, I suspect he might have difficulty being completely forthcoming with a female. I want you to possess all the facts. The only way to be certain you have confidence in my ability to see to your interests is to be the one who shows you the contracts and terms myself, and explains whatever might be confusing.”

  His smile was filled with mischief. “I want to expose you. Not shield you.”

  Her lips curved slightly. He was charming in his own wicked way.

  “The hour grows late,” he said as they neared the companionway again. “Allow me to escort you back to your cabin?”

  “Thank you.” She was startled to realize she enjoyed his company.

  Once they reached her door, he sketched an abbreviated bow in the narrow space. “I bid you good night, Lady Tarley. Sweet dreams.”

  He was gone before she could reply, leaving behind a rather marked emptiness in the space he’d occupied.

  Chapter 3

  Michael Sinclair, Viscount Tarley, found himself in front of the Regmont town house in Mayfair thirty minutes into the two-hour block of time in which Lady Regmont was known to be at home to callers. He dismounted before he could change his mind and passed the reins to the waiting footman, then took the steps up to the front door two at a time. He resisted the urge to check his cravat, which he’d styled modestly with a simple barrel knot. His anxiousness was extreme, to the point that he’d dithered over which of his waistcoats was the most attractive foil for the deep blue coat he wore for her, because she had once said blue was a very attractive color on his person.

  In short order, he was announced into a drawing room holding half a dozen callers. Hester sat in a butter-colored wingback in the center of the assemblage, looking as fragile and beautiful as he had ever seen her.

  “Lord Tarley,” she greeted, extending her hands to him without rising.

  He crossed the oriental rug with swift strides and kissed the back of each pale, slender hand. “Lady Regmont. My day is brighter for having begun it in your presence.”

  His pleasure would be dimmed when he left, as if he stepped out of the sunlight and into a shadow. He believed she was made for him, so much so he’d never once contemplated marrying anyone else. In his youth, he had thought it would be perfect for the Sinclair brothers to marry the Sheffield sisters and live parallel, harmonious lives. But Hadley had nursed grander plans for his daughters, and Michael’s position as second son was not of sufficient consequence even to bear consideration.

  He’d never had a chance to have her.

  To add insult to injury, Hester was denied even a proper Season, just as her sister had been. She was betrothed almost from the moment she was presented at court.

  “I thought you had forgotten me,” she said to him. “It has been ages since you last called.”

  “I could never forget you.” Although there were nights when he prayed for such to be possible.

  She looked over his shoulder with a telling glance. A moment later, an efficient servant moved a damask-upholstered wooden chair to a place beside her. The other guests returned Michael’s brisk nods of greeting with smiles and effusive welcomes.

  “Please,” Hester said, gesturing at the chair. “Sit. Tell me everything that has transpired in your life since the last time we spoke.”

  He settled into the seat, his gaze ravenous as it swept over her glorious features. Her golden hair was styled fashionably, with ringlets on her forehead and hanging over her ears. She wore a lovely gown of rose pink, and her neck was adorned with a cameo secured by a thick black ribbon.

  “I’ve come to reassure you. Jessica is in good hands. Alistair Caulfield has agreed to look after her while she is away. He’s lived in Jamaica for some years now and is well versed in the flow of Society and the personages in residence there.”

  “Mr. Caulfield, you say.” A frown marred the line of her brows. “I am not certain she ever cared much for him.”

  “I think the feeling might be mutual. The few times I’ve seen them together, they both became noticeably discomfited. However, they are adults now and she requires some guidance in matters in which Caulfield has expertise. In addition, she seeks to sell the plantation, and Caulfield’s property borders hers, so she has the impetus and means to conclude her affairs posthaste and return to you.”

  “My lord.” Hester’s lovely green eyes warmed. “You are deviously clever. I adore that trait in you.”

  Her last words caused a pang in his chest. Her adoration was only a small portion of what he wanted from her. “I cannot take all the credit. Caulfield rather fell into my lap and volunteered. I was simply in the correct place at the correct time to take advantage.”

  “You are a godsend.” Her smile faded. “I miss her terribly already and she has been gone only one day. But listen to me go on so selfishly. She made a great attempt to hide it, but it was clear she anticipated the trip. In fact, she was quite eager. I should at least make an attempt to be excited for her.”

  “That is why I came by today. I know how close you are to Jessica and how her absence will pain you. I want you to know … I am at your disposal, for whatever you require, in the interim until she returns.”

  “You have always been so wonderful to me.” She reached out and gently, all-too-briefly touched his forearm. An air of melancholy clung to her that disturbed him. “But y
ou have enough new burdens without adding me to the mix.”

  “You will never be a burden to me. It is my privilege to be available to you whenever you may need me.”

  “You may live to regret that offer one day,” she teased, brightening. “I am certain I could devise ways to torment you with it.”

  Although her meaning was innocent, his reaction to her words was less so. “Do your worst,” he challenged in a husky voice. “I am eager to prove myself up to the task.”

  A blush brought welcome color to her pale cheeks.

  “Milady.” The butler approached with a small, beribboned box on a silver salver. He presented the gift to her.

  One of Hester’s guests, the Marchioness of Grayson, began to tease her about secret admirers and how jealous Regmont would be, since his possessiveness over his wife was well known. He was unfashionably doting.

  Hester opened the small accompanying card first, then set it on the chair arm beside her. Michael noted that her fingers were shaking as she opened the box, revealing a jewel-encrusted broach of obvious expense. Noting the pinched look around her eyes, he glanced at the card, which had been only partially refolded. He could make out very little of the slashing scrawl, but “forgive me” was legible enough. It tautened his jaw and sent a rush of questions through his mind.

  “Well?” Lady Bencott asked. “Do not keep us in an agony of curiosity. What is it and who sent it?”

  Hester passed the gift into the countess’s waiting hand. “Regmont, of course.”

  As the broach made its way around the room to much approbation, Michael thought Hester’s wide smile looked forced. Certainly she was too pale not to raise some concern.